Wishing Is Cold This Year
by notanotherfanficauthor
Summary: Ivan and Toris are on their way to a meeting when their train derails in a snowstorm. They seek shelter in an abandoned cabin and Toris becomes dependent on Ivan for survival, evoking conflicting emotions.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This was originally written in response to a really amazing kinkmeme prompt, and much to my surprise it had a really positive reaction from the anons there. So I decided to redraft it for fanfic-dot-net. Will become epic M-rated in later chapters, but keeping it at T for now. _

_And also...um...I suppose I'm de-anoning in the process. Eep._

_Much less-than-three to my fellow anons over on livejournal.  
_

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Had Toris not been deeply terrified of his travelling companion, he might have said "I told you so." As it was, he barely dared to think it, being rather preoccupied with stemming the flow of blood from his temple. It had been absolute madness to even venture out in such weather, meeting or not but, true to form, Ivan had insisted on abandoning all logic and forward planning, ignoring the weather forecast and dismissing the brunette's concerns over the upcoming blizzard as "a mild flurry of snow".

He hadn't even wanted to go to the meeting, he reflected miserably. Accompanying Russia to world meetings was generally just an exercise in humiliation for the eldest Baltic. He had no say in anything, was merely there to take notes for Russia and behave as the larger nation's glorified secretary. And the others would look away, avoid eye contact with him in that guilty, uncomfortable way which spoke plainly of the fact that they knew his captivity was unjust, but they couldn't do anything about it. But still, he'd been dragged along to the train station and they'd set out across the vast, wintry expanse of the Motherland, despite the train being deserted save for them, and numerous weather-warnings on the radio cautioning them to turn back.

And this had been more or less how he, rather unceremoniously, found himself face down in the toppled carriage of a derailed train, snow pouring in through the broken window as he lifted a hand groggily to his head and felt the wet, sticky warmth of blood. Sitting up, cross legged, he looked around frantically for the Russian, the ruined carriage swimming in and out of focus. Eventually, a loud groan from underneath some broken pieces of wood and glass alerted him to Ivan's presence, and he crawled forward on his hands and knees to reach him. He seemed, at a glance, to be uninjured, although he was sprawled out on the floor and muttering dazedly to himself in his mother tongue.

"S...sir?" Toris began tentatively, and Ivan abruptly sat up and gripped the smaller nation's wrist, causing him to start a little.

"What happened, Toris?" he demanded, as though it wasn't completely obvious.

"I...I think the train crashed, sir," Lithuania ventured gently. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Think I'm fine..." Ivan lumbered to his feet and brushed off his coat, showering the brunette with pieces of glass and debris. As the violet-eyed man surveyed the carnage around him, Toris found himself rather relieved that there hadn't been other passengers. Ordinary human beings might not have survived the crash as robustly as he and Ivan. In an instant, his thoughts turned to the driver of the train and he scrambled to his feet in a panic, just as the taller nation was kicking down the door at the back of the carriage. In an instant, a flurry of snow assaulted them, and Toris drew his arms around himself with a violent shiver, despite his heavy woollen coat. As Russia strode out into the snow, the smaller nation scrambled after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. The pale man stood back to inspect the damage to the train and Toris swallowed hard. It was utterly ruined, completely derailed. Twisted metal and broken glass was strewn all around them, the broken train tracks barely visible under the growing flurry of white. The plume of smoke coming from the driver's cabin made his heart sink, and he barely had to squint to see that the poor soul had clearly died instantly. Refraining from openly crossing himself, lest it would anger his vehemently atheist companion, he whispered a tiny prayer under his breath instead, which was lost in the howling wind.

"What are we going to do?" he called out at the top of his lungs, the force of the snowstorm making his voice barely audible. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation and very slim hope of rescue.

"Well, we can't stay here," Russia replied, and somehow his voice seemed to carry clearly, even over the blizzard. He gave the smaller man a wan, joyless little smile. "I might be fine but you, little Litva, will freeze to death, country or not." Striding forward, he gripped him by his upper arm and began to walk purposefully, as Toris stumbled along beside him.

"W...where are we going, sir?" he asked, blinking against the blinding landscape and wondering just how exactly Russia was able to be so confident in his strides when they were blatantly, irretrievably lost.

"I don't know," Ivan replied, and there was a terseness in his ordinarily lilting voice. "We just need to keep moving, da? It is our best chance. Eventually, if we walk far enough, we will reach something. That is the way of things."

"Shouldn't we...stay close to the wreckage...hope somebody finds us...?"

"It might be days," Ivan dismissed him, continuing to push on through the endless sea of white. Already, the train was becoming smaller and smaller on the landscape, obscured by the snow. "Better that we look for shelter."

"But we're in the middle of nowhere..." he protested plaintively. The taller man responded by gripping his arm that fraction tighter, causing him to wince.

"Which is why we need to find shelter," he repeated with a frown, and Toris decided to close his mouth. It was clear that the Russian was in an understandably foul mood, and he decided it was better to risk freezing to death than risk questioning Ivan's orders.

And so they trudged on in silence, through miles and miles interminable snow, Toris found his knees growing weaker and weaker. He'd lost track of time, but somewhere along the line, he'd stopped being able to feel his feet, and his stumbling grew more and more frequent. But all the while, Ivan kept a hold of his arm, hauling him back onto his feet every time he threatened to fall. His teeth chattered violently, snowflakes crystallising painfully on his eyelashes, no matter how furiously he blinked. And still, Ivan did not let up.

Some hours later, he became vaguely aware of the fact that he was no longer walking, that his legs were no longer supporting his own weight and that Ivan was simply dragging him through the freezing wasteland as though he was a ragdoll, his feet dragging uselessly in the snow. The Russian's touch had always seemed cold to Toris, but in the midst of the blizzard, the grip on his aching arm seemed like the only warm thing left in the world. He was used to the cold, had lived through many a winter under Ivan's rule, but he realised then that he had never, until now, truly understood the concept of "freezing".

"Sir...I..." he began dazedly, but his words were lost to the screaming wind which assaulted them both. His head began to loll uselessly against his shoulder, the numbing cold making his eyelids heavy. He wanted to close his eyes, to give in to the paralysing cold which had crept over his body, rendering his limbs heavy and useless. "I want to sleep..." he mumbled, semi coherently through cracked and chapped lips.

"Нет, Toris," he heard the other man tell him firmly, even as his eyes drifted closed. And then, for the first time since they'd started their Hellish, impromptu journey, Ivan stopped walking. A moment later, and there was a sharp crack and a stinging sensation in his cheek as the Russian sharply brought his gloved hand across the smaller man's face. It was enough to bring his eyes open again, to find himself peering into another set of snow-encrusted eyelashes and flashing violet. And he vaguely realised that, despite the blow, Ivan's expression was one of frowning concern, rather than irritation. "You mustn't play the General's games."

Removing his scarf, Ivan shivered a little as he wound it around Toris' neck, still propping the little country up with his free hand, never relinquishing his hold on his arm. "So weak, little Litva," he murmured to himself as the Lithuanian swayed on his feet. With a clucking noise, he suddenly hauled the little nation towards his burly chest and, before Toris could even register what was happening, he found himself slung over Ivan's broad shoulder, dangling there helplessly. He barely had the energy to murmur a protest.

"This will be faster," Ivan mused aloud, setting off at a pace which was so much quicker that the Lithuanian could only feel a vague sense of shame at how dramatically he'd been slowing them both down. The larger man carried him as though he weighed nothing, ploughing on through the snow as though it barely affected him. And Toris knew that wasn't the case, knew how vehemently the violet-eyed country hated the bitter winter. But he kept on going, stoically putting one foot in front of the other and never seeming to tire. It occurred to the brunette that, as terrified as he was of Ivan, he really couldn't have chosen a better person to be stranded in a snowstorm with.

It was this thought which comforted him, just a little, even as the numbness crept over him and finally, for the first time in a very long time, he disobeyed a direct order from Ivan and succumbed to unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

When he opened his eyes again, he became aware of the sensation of cold wood pressed against his cheek, the sharp smell of dampness and rot pervading his senses. Something warm and heavy was draped around him and he shifted slightly to realise that it was Ivan's coat which covered him. Shivering violently, he sat up, drawing the beige fabric about himself tightly as he realised that the snow was no longer assaulting him, that the numbness in his hands and feet had been replaced with a sharp, tingling pain as feeling returned to his extremities.

"Ivan...?" he mumbled tiredly, glancing over to what appeared to be a long-neglected hearth. The pale blond was bent over the broken fireplace, clad in the thick blue jumper he'd been wearing under his coat, sparking two stones together and trying to ignite a pitiful supply of wood.

"Ah, Toris." He looked over at his servant with his usual beatific little smile, as though the situation was the most normal thing in the world. "You decided to wake up. Come and make yourself useful."

"What...I...?" he crawled forward towards the hearth, keeping the coat wrapped around his shoulders. "Sir...where are we?"

"Had you not decided to go to sleep, my lazy servant, you would know that I found us some shelter," he admonished softly.

"I'm sorry...I...I..." the brunette began to stammer. "I was so cold and..."

Ivan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Ah, but I cannot blame you this time, Toris," he said quietly. "The General does not take kindly to trespassers." Sighing at the non-existent fire, he continued. "It seems that this cabin was used for hunting, perhaps in the summer months. It will do until the worst of the storm passes." 

Toris reached over and began to clumsily help Ivan with the fire, rearranging the sticks in such a way that they would catch light more easily. "I...Ivan..." he said quietly as he watched the sparks from the stones fail to ignite again. "You...you saved me."

"I know." The Russian looked at him with a faint curiosity, as though he was wondering why the Lithuanian was stating something so obvious.

"Well...um...thank you...?" Toris said awkwardly, keeping his eyes fixed on the hearth, willing the sticks to burst into flame.

"Ah Litva..." he put one large hand on Lithuania's shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it was faintly painful, even through two thick layers of coats. "But you are my property, da? Of course I would not let any harm befall you."

Lithuania closed his eyes tightly for a moment, unsure of exactly how he felt about that statement. He was already well aware that Ivan's definition of "harm" did not encompass any injuries he inflicted on Toris himself.

"Besides," Ivan continued merrily, "Who knows how long we might be trapped here? You know it is...ah...better for both of us if you are the one who is cooking, Toris."

In spite of himself, Toris let out a tiny chuckle, just as the fireplace sparked into life. And although being trapped indefinitely in the middle of nowhere with Ivan Braginski was undoubtedly an unnerving thought, he couldn't help but feel reassuringly safe in the larger nation's presence as he watched the flames lick away at the wood.

Ivan's lilting voice interrupted his thoughts as he leaned over with an expression of curiosity and lifted a handful of Lithuania's damp hair away from his face, looking at it as though it were some strange new object. "Wet," he declared. "My Litva is soaked to the blood. This is not good. You're too small, you will get ill."

"I'll be fine," Toris replied, stifling the urge to sniffle already. It would be a miracle if he'd made it through such a gruelling trek without coming down with _something_. But he shook the thought as the warmth from the small fire thawed out his limbs and brought colour back to his cheeks. Eventually he shrugged off the large overcoat and handed it back to Ivan, before solemnly unwinding his scarf and pressing it into the other man's hand with a grateful squeeze. 

He looked around the room hopefully, to see exactly what they had to work with. If they were going to be stuck here for a long time, he would have to clean up, make the place habitable, he reasoned. The floor was thick with dust, but fortunately, there was a broom in the corner. A decent sized pile of reasonably dry firewood still remained, and there was a small wooden table they might be able to burn, if things got really desperate. But he was certain there would be enough, used sparingly, to keep them going long enough for any freshly gathered wood to dry out. There was a small bed in an alcove on the far side of the room, the sheets old and dusty. But with all the snow, Toris reasoned that there would hardly be a problem with water. Their main concern would be food. He hoped there was a residual supply somewhere, perhaps some tins stashed away, but he somehow doubted it.

Almost as though reading his mind, Russia piped up thoughtfully beside him. "It grows dark. Tonight, we will have to go to bed hungry," he declared ruefully. "Tomorrow, I hunt."

"Hunt?" Toris blurted out. The thought had not occurred to him. Even the mere idea of stepping out into that blizzard again filled him with horror. Ivan raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face and laughed softly, giving him a light push on the shoulder which almost sent him sprawling.

"Not you, Litva. You will stay here," he smiled thinly, "This place is hardly pleasant, there is much to be done. I'm sure you'll earn your keep."

The smaller nation nodded earnestly, his features relaxing in grateful relief at the prospect of not being forced back out into the snow. He remained on his knees beside the fireplace until he realised that Ivan was looking at him expectantly.

"Starting now, perhaps?" the blonde prompted him quietly, with a deceptively benign smile.

"Oh, right...of course..." he stammered, and scrambled to his feet, while Ivan stretched out in front of the fire. The rest of the dimly lit cabin, outwith the immediate vicinity of the flames, was deathly cold and he began to shiver again as he made his way to the bed, hauling the heavy sheets off and choking on the dust. It was much too late in the evening to start washing them, so he draped them over the backs of two rickety wooden chairs on the other side of the room and began to beat them with the broom to get rid of the worst of the build up. As he began to cough in the resulting cloud, Ivan glanced over at him bemusedly, before turning his attentions back to contemplating the flames.

Hands and face thoroughly smudged with dirt, he was finally satisfied that the sheets were more-or-less fit for human use and he pulled them back onto the bed, arranging them neatly. From beside the fire, he could hear Ivan yawning.

"Um...your bed is ready," he said softly. "It's not perfect, but it was the best I could do."

"Ah, no matter..." Ivan got to his feet wearily and put a heavy hand on Toris' shoulder. "I am tired. It has been a long day." And then he added, almost teasingly, "You are not as light as you look, Litva."

As an embarrassed flush began to creep across Lithuania's cheeks, Ivan laughed lightly and ruffled his hair roughly, before he made his way towards the bed, clambering under the covers with a contented sigh. The brunette glanced enviously at the thick blankets covering the Russian, before sighing quietly and wrapping his coat around himself, curling up in front of the rapidly dying embers of the fire. As the flames guttered and the warmth faded, he found himself beginning to shiver again, and he closed his eyes tightly, willing his muscles to stop spasming long enough for him to snatch some sleep.

Ivan cleared his throat and he started slightly, before curling up tighter. The same noise came again, more insistently and he tried to ignore it. Then came an exasperated sigh and a quietly impatient, "Litva?"

He opened his eyes again and shifted to a half-sitting position, squinting over at where Ivan lay in the darkness. "Litva, what are you doing?" the other nation questioned softly.

"Sir?"

"You are soaking wet, it is the middle of winter, there is no heat and you mean to sleep on the floor?" he continued, the puzzlement in his voice clearly evident.

"But I...I thought that you wanted the bed for yourself..." Lithuania began hesitantly.

"It is nice that you know your place, little one," he informed Toris, as though he were gently explaining something very, very obvious to a small child. "But I do not want to wake up tomorrow and find my servant frozen half to death. So get into bed."

Toris felt an absurd wave of gratitude as he scrambled to his feet and clambered awkwardly into the small bed. Even under the covers, it was still cold, but it was infinitely preferable to the icy chill from the draught on the floor. "Thank you, sir," he murmured tiredly, before turning away from Ivan onto his side.

A moment later, something warm enveloped him and he stifled a yelp as he found himself pulled tightly against Ivan's chest, enveloped in the thick fabric of the other man's open coat. Being in such close proximity to the larger nation caused his heart to race in a panicked sort of way. It was true that he was, as a rule, utterly terrified of Russia, that he was constantly walking on eggshells and there was always something in the back of his mind screaming at him that the deranged country might snap at any moment. But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel desperately glad at the fact that it had been _Ivan_, and no one else, who had been there to protect him, to haul him to safety. Exhausted, conflicted and overcome with an overwhelming gratitude towards his long time tormentor, his eyes slipped closed as tiredness began to pull him into fitful unconsciousness once more.

"Litva?" Ivan's voice in his ear roused him from the sleep which had begun to overtake him.

"Sir?"

"If you snore, you _will_ be back on the floor. Is that clear?"

Toris smiled to himself in the darkness, even though he was fairly certain that Ivan was being deadly serious. "Yes, sir..." he murmured quietly, letting his heavy eyelids drop closed once again as he drifted off to sleep, tucked away safely in the folds of Ivan's coat. 

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_AN: So...a wild plot device appears in the form of a deserted cabin and, as if by magic, we have chapter two! I hope you're liking it so far and thanks so much for the reviews! I noticed a lot (like...a lot lot) of people added this to their favourites and watch lists, so thank you for that too! Although if any of you silent watchery types fancied leaving a wee comment, it would surely make my day...! ^^;;_

_Much love!_


	3. Chapter 3

Toris slept surprisingly well, and when his eyes next fluttered open again, he supposed it to be morning. Not that there was much light streaming in through the snow-covered windowpanes, but he could make out just enough to hazard a guess. He shifted a little in bed and realised that he was alone. Sitting up with a start, he swung his legs out of bed and shivered violently at the cold air. It was much worse than even winter at Russia's house, he realised, fighting the urge to crawl back under the blankets.

"Ivan?" he called out, but there was no sign of him in the dimly lit room. "Sir...?"

But the cabin was completely deserted and Toris wrinkled his nose in confusion. Had Ivan really gone out hunting and left him to sleep peacefully? It seemed so...uncharacteristic. He'd envisaged the Russian kicking him out of bed the following morning with a demand to lay the fire and get the house in some sort of order. He hurried to the front door and opened it a fraction, before closing it again with a slam as the blizzard outside assaulted him immediately. Was Ivan really trekking about in such hideous conditions, looking for a source of food for them? The thought made him feel a twinge of guilt as he glanced at the snow-blocked windows.

He was struck by the urge to make himself equally useful. He had no idea how he could possibly repay the fact that Ivan had saved his life and was now out on his own in the most miserable weather imaginable, just to provide for them, but he supposed that he might start by at least tidying up. It was certainly better than looking out the window and wondering if his captor-turned-protector was being eaten by wolves.

Toris went about inspecting the rest of the cabin for useful items. It was largely open plan, and all cooking seemed to have been done at the stove but there was a reasonable sized cupboard in which he found an old metal bathtub, some pots and pans and even a couple of cracked plates and some old rags that he figured he could use to wash the floor and surfaces with. There was also a large bar of carbolic soap, half open and clearly very old, but probably still up to the job for washing sheets with.

Getting water turned out to be a fairly laborious process, involving dragging the heavy tub outside, filling it with armfuls of snow, and hauling it back inside by the newly set fire, in order to melt it. To occupy himself in the meantime, Toris removed his coat determinedly, rolled up his shirt sleeves and began to sweep the floor. He put much more enthusiasm into the task than was necessary, mostly in an attempt to keep warm. By the time the water was melted, he almost felt warm again, and was dreading the prospect of plunging his hands into the icy liquid.

Before he started, he took a few of the larger pots and siphoned off enough clean water to drink for the next day or so. At least all the snow meant they wouldn't go thirsty. Then he pulled all the blankets from the bed, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got on with it.

As he worked, he couldn't help but continuously cast anxious glances towards the door, biting his lip every time he heard the scream of the wind. He found himself desperately hoping that Ivan was all right and, every time he did, shaking his head and telling himself that it was only because he was being sensible, because if Ivan didn't come back he was going to die here, alone and starving, freezing to death once the firewood ran out.

But he worked solidly and, a few hours later, sheets were drying by the fire, the floor and all the surfaces had been washed immaculately clean, the mattress was airing, the hearth was burning brightly, and the windows were cleared from their thick obstructions of snow.

Then Ivan burst in, trekking mud and snow everywhere, and dumped a dead wolf and two dead rabbits in the middle of the floor, sloshing half-frozen blood on Toris' beautifully clean work. He gasped and a part of him twitched at all the newly created mess. Ivan had a large scratch across his cheek and the front of his coat was splashed with crimson underneath its layer of snow. Immediately, Toris dashed forward to greet him, wringing his hands. 

"Ivan!" he blurted out, reaching out to put a hand on the Russian's arm and then thinking better of it.

The blonde clapped a hand roughly on his shoulder in acknowledgement and then pushed past him, making a beeline for the fire. "You'd best get started on cooking, eh Litva?" he said quietly, the exhaustion evident in his voice. The broad-shouldered nation shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to Lithuania, who staggered with it in his arms for a moment before hanging it up on a rusty nail. He would wash the blood out later, he reflected, wondering how much of his life he'd already spent scrubbing crimson out of Russia's favourite coat.

Toris went to survey Ivan's kills, wincing at the sight of the gaping knife gash across the largest animal's throat. It looked like the Russian had sawn right into the wolf's trachea. With a nervous glance at Ivan, he eyed the hilt of the hunting knife still tucked in the larger man's knee-length boot and gestured to it hesitantly.

"Um...could I borrow that...?" he asked. Tiredly, Russia removed it and tossed it in his direction, the large blade clattering on the floor beside the animal corpses. Lithuania wondered if he'd found it lying about the cabin, or if it was just something he happened to carry about his person. It looked a little too well cared for to have been the former, he decided.

He picked up the rabbits and moved them to the table. He was fairly certain he could cook a decent meal from them, especially with pots and a water to boil the meat in. Then he turned his attentions to the wolf.

"I've...never cooked wolf before..." he mused aloud, staring at the large corpse and at a complete loss.

"I was hunting rabbits," Ivan explained casually, "The wolf simply decided to pick a fight. Silly wolf." As Toris looked at him in startled surprise, the violet eyed man smiled and shrugged. "But meat is meat, da?"

"Right..." the Lithuanian swallowed hard and bit his lip. "Well, I'll cook the rabbit now, and then I'll do something with the wolf later. At least we can freeze it, right?" He laughed nervously and Ivan rewarded him with a thin, tired smile.

"If I may suggest, Litva," he chastised him softly, "You may wish to stop _talking _about cooking and get to work actually making dinner?"

Lithuania made a tiny choking sound and nodded hastily, dragging the wolf into the corner, hung a pot of water over the fire to boil and then got to work on skinning the rabbits. An adept cook, he worked quickly and methodically, eventually relaxing enough to unconsciously murmur a small tune under his breath as he removed the pelt and diced the meat.

He was putting it in the pot when he caught Ivan looking at him curiously.

"Hmmm?" the brunette enquired, so absorbed in his task that he'd almost forgotten whose company he was in.

"Litva?" he enquired, cocking his head to one side, "Do you always sing when you cook?"

"I..." Toris looked flustered for a moment, "I...suppose I do," he confessed. "I'm sorry, I'll keep quiet."

"Ah, Нет," Ivan waved his hand vaguely, "There are worse noises. You remind me of a bird." He stared into the fire contemplatively and, after a few moments, murmured to himself, "I wanted to kill some birds today, but I could not trap them so easily."

The smaller nation swallowed hard and forced himself to nod politely as he finished scraping the rest of the rabbit into the pot. "Dinner should be ready soon," he said, a little too brightly, by way of a subject change.

Eventually, the meat was ready and Toris disappeared with the pot, returning with one large plate and one smaller one. He gave Ivan the lion's share of the food, allotting himself only the bare minimum. It wasn't quite enough, but he was well aware of how much Ivan was able to eat. The blonde nodded approvingly when he saw the portion sizes. They sat cross legged on the floor beside the fire, eating in silence.

"Good," Ivan said eventually, between mouthfuls.

"I'm glad," the brunette replied sincerely, eyes fixed on his plate.

"You cleaned up."

"Yes sir."

"Also good."

The brief little exchange brought a tiny smile to Toris' lips and he looked up at the larger nation intently. He felt a faint little glow at the fact that Ivan had acknowledged, in his own way, that the Lithuanian was useful. It salved his pride a little to know that, even if he was utterly dependant on the Russian for survival, at least he could make a small contribution in return.

In spite of his best efforts to eat slowly, he finished his tiny rations all too quickly. He might have licked the plate, if he had been alone, but instead he forced himself to put it down with a slow, controlled movement, ignoring the fact that he was still hungry.

As he watched Ivan continue to eat, his stomach rumbled and he glanced desperately towards the bloodied coat. "If you don't mind, sir," he said quietly, "I'll get on with the laundry..."

Making a move to stand up, he found himself yanked back down again as Ivan reached up and grabbed his forearm, pulling him back down again and staring at him inquisitively.

"Sit," he commanded softly. And then, with no explanation, "Open your mouth, Litva."

Toris stared at him for a moment in surprise, before hastily arranging himself cross legged in front of the larger nation and parting his lips hesitantly, green eyes clouded with puzzlement. Ivan took a piece of meat from his plate and popped it in his half-open mouth.

"Eat," he told him impassively and then, when Lithuania began to chew obediently, he murmured, "Good boy."

At this, the Lithuanian's cheeks began to burn, and Ivan chuckled with quiet amusement, reaching out to ruffle his hair possessively. Ivan continued to eat in silence, occasionally hand feeding the smaller nation scraps from his plate. And after the initial humiliation wore off a little, Toris found himself thinking, in spite of himself, that perhaps this really wasn't so bad after all, that perhaps this was Ivan's way of showing some kind of affection, in his own inappropriate and controlling sort of way.

He held a last scrap of food in front of his mouth and Toris parted his lips again. The Russian pulled it away teasingly, and the brunette leaned forward before he could stop himself, evoking a low laugh from the other man. Ivan shoved the morsel in, a little too roughly, along with his finger, and Lithuania found himself, for just a split second sucking a little on the digit, closing his eyes briefly. Then he realised what he was doing and pulled back, horrified. Climbing to his feet, he stammered something about the laundry and left the warmth of the fireplace. And as he dumped Ivan's heavy coat in the tub and got to work scrubbing the bloodstains with soap, he could hear the violet eyed nation chuckling merrily to himself under his breath. 

_AN: Oh Toris, so clueless..._

_Anyway, thanks again so much to everyone who reviewed and to everyone who added the story to their various watch-y/favourite-y lists. Much much love. _


	4. Chapter 4

Once Toris was finished with the coat, his hands were red raw and chapped from scrubbing and his fingers numb from the cold water. But the activity had at least given him something to focus on, even if he did keep casting apprehensive glances towards Ivan, who sat immobile by the fire. Every so often, he would look up and catch the other nation staring at him with an almost predatory look, which forced his eyes back to the task in hand and his cheeks to colour rapidly.

Eventually, he turned his attentions to the biggest problem for the evening (besides, that was, his own uncontrollable embarrassment at the day's events thus far).

"Ivan...?" he ventured.

"Da?"

"I'm not really sure what to do about the dead wolf on the floor." Scratching his head with a bewildered expression, he had no idea where to even begin. He wasn't even sure if he could heave it onto the table.

"Just think of it like a big rabbit," he said, looking at Lithuania with a bemused smile. "Skin it. Cut the meat and freeze it outside."

"Right." And then a long, awkward pause. "Can you help me lift it?"

Russia simply stared at him for a long moment, before sighing gently and clambering to his feet, casting a regretful glance at the fire. He approached him and grabbed the cadaver by the scruff of its neck, hoisting it easily onto the table with one hand.

He picked up the knife in one hand, looked down at it and sighed, before getting to work.

It took him two hours, and by the time he was finished, Toris felt vaguely ill and the table looked like it belonged in a butcher's shop, the wood splattered with blood and entrails. The meat was cut into manageable portions and wrapped in the cleanest of the rags, buried under the snow outside to freeze. Given how much Ivan ate, Toris estimated that it might last them a good week or so, more if used frugally. But Russia seemed to quite enjoy killing things, so perhaps he wouldn't be too concerned at the prospect of going out hunting again. He'd buried the bones outside and hung the pelt on the wall. Perhaps he could clean it up and make it into a rug, he thought to himself, and then shook the idea off. After all, it wasn't as if they were setting up home here, simply taking shelter until the worst of the blizzard passed and they could go for help.

As he mechanically began to scrub the table down, he found himself imagining how the cabin might look if it _were_ fixed up nicely. Sweeping his gaze around the room, he could imagine how homely it might be with the addition of some curtains at the window, if the fireplace were cleaned up, if there was a decent stove to cook and and the floor and furniture were polished and there were rugs on the floor and a tablecloth on the table and... He blinked, shaking his head to himself. He'd clearly been stuck as a domestic servant for far too long if his thoughts were automatically turning to things like _curtains_ and _tablecloths_.

He glanced back to Ivan and watched the look of contentment on his pale face as he stared into the brightly burning flames. It occurred to him that the scene would be much nicer if the cabin had a proper armchair for him to rest in, rather than simply sitting cross-legged on the floor. He allowed his mind to wander a little as he pictured how cozy it might be if every evening went like this, with Toris cooking the food that Ivan had brought home while he relaxed in front of the fire, perhaps in comfortable silence, perhaps swapping snippets of conversation about nothing-in-particular. Perhaps it wouldn't be so dreadful if they were stuck here. Ivan could provide for them, could keep him safe while he took care of the house. Things were much simpler like this; no politics, no war, no world meetings, no vodka for Ivan to get drunk on and then slap him around.

"Litva?" Ivan's voice jolted him out of his reverie and he realised that the Russian was looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"S..sir?"

"Why are you staring at me?" Ivan asked innocently, tilting his head to one side. Toris felt a lurch of panic in his stomach as he turned scarlet. Thank God Russia couldn't read his mind, he thought to himself.

"I...well...I don't know..." he floundered, looking desperately at the bedsheets and wondering if they were dry yet. "I...suppose I was thinking that it's...um...it's lucky you found this place."

"Da," the blonde agreed, "It is a good place to wait out the snowstorm. But we will soon be out of firewood and then...it will not be so pleasant."

"I'll look for fallen branches in the morning," Toris offered uncertainly. "If we start drying out wood tomorrow then..."

"You, little one, will not leave the house," Ivan cut him off firmly, causing the Lithuanian to stare at him in surprise. "In here, I can keep you from the General. Out in the storm, not so much."

Toris looked at Ivan, open mouthed, a warm, happy feeling coursing through him at the firm, protective tone in the other man's voice. Flustered, he nodded and turned his attentions to the sheets, pulling them from where he'd set them to dry and setting to work making the bed. _Their_ bed, he thought to himself, and then frowned, shaking his head.

When he was finished, he all but jumped as he turned around to find Ivan hovering over him, holding out his blue jumper in his hand. He had a dark woollen shirt underneath and Toris found himself wondering just how many layers of clothing he actually wore.

"Y...you want me to wash it?" he enquired.

"Нет, Toris," Ivan began, in the patient tone of someone who is addressing an idiot child, "I want you to wear it." He gestured to the Lithuanian's own shirt, which was covered in blood and dust and grime from the day's activities. "You are not getting into my bed wearing something so filthy."

"Oh..." Toris bit his lip, embarrassed, and began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off and hanging it over one of the bedposts. It was fairly ruined, but he reasoned that he could wash the worst of it the next day and perhaps keep it to wear while doing housework. He turned around and realised that Ivan had been gazing rather intently at his back. _Right. My scars._

He looked at the expression on the violet-eyed man's countenance, desperately seeking some evidence that there was a hint of remorse. But he found nothing that he could convince himself of. Ivan's expression was utterly unreadable, and Toris gave up, slipping the warm jumper over his head. Ivan continued to study him, to the point where the other man's stare was making him uncomfortable. Eventually, he looked away and climbed into bed and the Lithuanian found himself standing there awkwardly for a few moments, before following suit.

As he settled his cheek down against the blissfully clean sheets, he felt two arms encircling him again abruptly and his head was pulled onto Ivan's broad shoulder, his smaller frame pressed tightly against the other's.

"_My_ Litva..." Ivan mumbled sleepily into the top of his head, and there was something about the deeply possessive note in his voice which made Lithuania's chest tighten slightly.

"Hmmm..." he murmured in a non-committal sort of way, feigning tiredness and trying to ignore the fact that there were some rather unwanted butterflies in his stomach, even as Russia drew him tighter into an embrace. _It's just for body heat. It's just because we have to keep warm,_ he told himself firmly, stifling a yawn as his eyelids sank closed, listening to the sound of Ivan's heartbeat as the winter winds raged outside their little sanctuary.

"Pleasant dreams, Toris..." Ivan's voice was barely more than a whisper and Toris felt his grip on him slacken as sleep began to claim the larger nation.

_Goodnight Vanya..._

"You too, sir..." he murmured, but the other man was already snoring softly against his ear. With a contented little smile, he reached up and curled his fingers into Russia's hand, before drifting off to sleep. 

* * *

_AN: Good times. I think I was really fixated on sleep, in general, when I wrote this story. There seems to be a lot sleeping and not a lot of action._

_Thank you again so much to everyone who reviewed/added to watch lists. So much love._


	5. Chapter 5

Toris awoke to the sound of the wind rattling the panes of the little hut, the dull thud of falling snow battering against the flimsy glass. Ivan's arms were still draped tightly around him and he huddled in closer to the other man, drawing the blankets tighter about himself and squeezing his eyes closed again. But he couldn't ignore the fact that it was morning, that the room was freezing cold despite the blankets and the jumper and the (relatively) warm body next to him.

Opening one eye, he stole a glance upwards at Ivan's face and noticed that the other's eyes were firmly closed, his face peaceful in sleep and his breathing slow and regular. Well, he reflected, five more minutes wouldn't hurt...

Almost guiltily, he closed his eyes again, curling up against Ivan's shoulder with a tiny sigh, wrapping one arm over his broad chest and listening to the dull thud of the sleeping Russian's heartbeat. Just as he felt his limbs growing heavy again, he found himself shoved abruptly towards the end of the bed.

"Нет, Litva," a soft voice beside him caused him to sit up in fright, suddenly clutching the blankets to his chest. "Don't go back to sleep. I've been waiting for you to get up and make breakfast."

"I...Ivan?" he stammered, a sinking feeling of panic in his chest as he suddenly realised that the blonde hadn't been sleeping at all. He scrambled out of the bed as though it was on fire, almost tripping over his own feet as he rushed to the fireplace. As he grabbed some of the waning supply of firewood, he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. There was an amused little smile playing about Ivan's lips.

He quickly laid the fire and took some of the frozen meat from outside to cook. Glancing at it, he decided that the prospect of it for breakfast made him feel slightly ill, so he decided to opt for a drink of water instead, as he prepared the food as best he could on the little fire.

Ivan slowly clambered out of bed once the fire was burning brightly, and sauntered over to the hearth to sit in front of it with a long, contented sigh as Toris continued to cook.

"It's a shame we don't have any beans," he voiced his thoughts aloud as he stirred the pot with a spoon that was missing half it's handle. "It would make this a much better meal."

"If we were able to buy such things," Ivan reminded him evenly, "Then it would be a moot point, because we wouldn't be stranded in a blizzard."

"Of course..." Toris replied hastily, returning his gaze to the bottom of the pot. "I was just..." he shrugged. "Do you think this storm will last for long?"

"Ah, it is impossible to tell," the violet eyed man waved his hand with a vague shrug. "The only one who knows for certain is the General. And he does not like to share his plans, even with me, I'm afraid."

The Lithuanian couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy about the way the Russian spoke of winter as though it was something sentient. Sometimes it was as though Ivan really could feel some kind of presence in the howling winds and bitter blizzards, as though he really had entered into some suspicious, uneasy truce with the snow and cold, as though he and the sinister "General" were forced to cohabit the same land and had met an arrangement accordingly.

But then again, he thought to himself, the infinitely more likely explanation was that Ivan was just a little unhinged.

As the brunette reflected on this, Ivan looked at him thoughtfully. "And why do you ask, Toris? Is the prospect of being trapped here with me such a dreadful one?"

Wide eyed, Toris' head jerked up. "N-no..!" he assured the other man hastily. "Of course not! I mean...if you hadn't found this place...we would have..." he tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear awkwardly, "I'm just glad we're safe."

"I don't suppose..." Ivan mused. "That it should really make any difference to you one way or the other."

"What do you mean?" Toris asked, setting the pot down for a moment at the other man's curious statement.

"Well," he explained, with a soft smile, "To you, Litva, it is inconsequential whether we are here, or at home. Either way, you still depend on me for food, for shelter, for survival. You _could_ leave, but you would never last on your own." He sighed quietly, "The walls of the Soviet Union are no different to the walls of this cabin. Just that here...you are the only thing I have to take care of."

"_Take care of..._" the Lithuanian echoed him sadly. And for a moment, he really wanted to believe it, really wanted to see things Ivan's way. That he wasn't a captive, that Russia has simply taken him in hand and sheltered him from all the General Winters of the world outside, that the boundaries of the USSR were there to protect him, not imprison him.

Here, trapped in a little hut in the middle of the storm, it was easier to envision things that way, even if he knew that, both here and back home, his freedom of choice was almost non-existent. He decided that it was entirely better not to think about it and to get on with making breakfast instead. Scraping the bottom of the pot and spooning the meat onto one of the chipped little plates, he handed it to Ivan.

"I hope it's good," he offered by means of a hasty subject change.

Ivan simply nodded as he shovelled it into his mouth. Russia's ability to more or less inhale his food was phenomenal, Toris reflected wryly. No wonder he was so huge.

"You don't eat?" he enquired in between mouthfuls. Toris shook his head firmly.

"I...think it's a little too early in the morning for wolf."

Ivan looked at him strangely, and then shrugged. "Well," he said wearily, swallowing his last spoonful and setting down the plate. "I suppose I must tackle the firewood problem, da?" Rising, he made his way to where his coat had dried from the evening before.

"Is there anything I can do?" Toris offered anxiously.

"Ah no, little one," Ivan shrugged. "As I said, this is not a job for one so fragile as you. Yesterday, I saw an axe in the bunker outside," he smiled thinly. "It will not be sharp, but I do not foresee that to be a problem."

Toris wondered what Ivan meant for a moment, then he found his eyes wandering over the Russian's huge frame. What the axe lacked in keenness, Ivan would make up for in brute force, he realised.

As Russia buttoned his coat and wrapped his scarf about him tightly, the Lithuanian thought he caught a brief pained flash across his face, a slight shiver of apprehension as he prepared to step out into the snowstorm. It made him feel horribly guilty for staying home, he realised with a surge of unhappy gratitude.

"Ivan!" he rushed forward impulsively as the other man paused with his hand on the door handle. Turning to look at him, the blonde raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Um..." Toris floundered for a moment, and cleared his throat, before looking up at him earnestly. "Please take care!"

A small, surprised smile made it's way onto Ivan's face at this, just for a moment. And then he laughed and reached out and roughly patted Toris on the head, ruffling his hair dismissively. And then, without a word, he was gone, the door hammering closed behind with him with force of the wind as his tall silhouette disappeared into the flurry of white.

After clearing the plates away and washing them with some of the bitter snow from outside, Toris found himself cross legged in front of the fire, staring at the flames for the longest time as they ate away the last of the wood in the hearth. As the fire began to gutter and die, he found himself wrapping his arms around himself tightly and starting to shiver, but he did not dare to put the last of their firewood supply onto the faltering blaze, for fear that Ivan might come back empty handed.

Toris shuddered a little at the thought of him out in such hideous weather, and tried to tell himself that it was the cold, the isolation, and his own pathologically altruistic nature that made him worry, not only for the Russian's safety, but for his _comfort_. He found himself filled with an involuntary anxiety at the idea of the other man being freezing and wet and miserable, chopping branches with a blunt axe while General Winter continued his relentless assault.

Getting to his feet, he found himself pacing the room anxiously, looking around for some vaguely domestic task he could carry out in an effort to feel a little less _useless_ and finding himself at a loss.

Walking to the window, he peered out into the snowstorm, but he might as well have been staring at a blank sheet of paper, for the view was nothing but a blinding flurry of white. Pressing his nose to the glass, his breath steaming up the pane, his bright, anxious green eyes scanned the bleak, featureless landscape for some hint of that familiar brown overcoat, but it was utterly futile. All he could see was snow, enough snow to make him sick.

When he couldn't stand it any more, he turned away and wrapped his arms about himself tighter still, the temperature in the little cabin having plummeted drastically as the fire went out. He cast a glance to the small heap of blankets that were piled up on the still unmade bed, and went to straighten them out. But when he reached them, he realised that the prospect of their warmth was almost impossible to resist and, with a guilty compulsion, he found himself clambering back into bed, drawing the covers around himself tightly with steadily numbing fingers and curling into a ball against the mounting cold.

Gradually, he began to feel something akin to the sensation that he'd felt as Ivan had dragged him through the snowstorm, a heavy, sleepy feeling as he watched his breath mist in front of him. But this time, buried under a pile of blankets, there was no survival instinct warning him to fight the urge to close his eyes, and so he did, beginning to doze off into a fitful, uncomfortable little sleep even as he continued to fret over Ivan's whereabouts.

"Please come home soon, Vanya..." he mumbled to himself under his breath, and he had a moment's concern about the involuntary use of the word "home", before unconsciousness pulled him under.

* * *

When his eyes fluttered open again, it took him a few moments to realise where he was. The hard, cold makeshift pillow that he'd been using seemed warmer somehow, and his limbs didn't ache with the same numbing cold as before.

Blinking in slight confusion, he rolled over onto his back and found himself staring up into two curious pools of violet.

"Gah...!" he exclaimed, jerking back in sudden fright. His head slipped with a quiet "thud" onto the mattress as it became apparent that he'd been propped up on Ivan's lap. Toris stared in wide eyed shock at the blonde sitting at the edge of the bed, a bemused little smile curling about his pale lips. Not a moment later, he realised that he could hear the crackling of firewood burning merrily in the hearth.

"Vanya!" he blurted out, still half dazed. His hand flew to his mouth as he realised that he'd used the overly-familiar diminutive out loud and his cheeks turned slightly scarlet.

Ivan raised an eyebrow in faint surprise, but declined to comment as Toris pulled himself into a sitting position, cross legged on the bed, his hair hanging in messy disarray in front of his eyes. The Russian brushed a few stray chestnut locks from his line of vision and clapped him roughly on the cheek with a throaty chuckle.

"My Litva grows lazy," he eventually observed in his usual lilting tones, and Toris couldn't fathom whether he meant it as light hearted humour or a thinly veiled warning. He decided to err on the side of caution and take it as the latter.

"I...I'm so sorry!" he began, "I didn't mean to fall asleep...I waited at the window for you, for the longest time, but it was so cold and I didn't want to waste the firewood so..."

"You waited at the window?" Ivan repeated with a soft smile. "Ah, well better to find you sleeping than frozen, da? On the condition, of course, that this does not become a habit."

"It won't!" he exclaimed hastily, but some of the panic was ebbing from his tone and his shoulders relaxed a little. After all, if Ivan was really annoyed, wouldn't he have woken him up, instead of pulling him onto his lap. And although it was never a good idea to second guess Russia, he found a tiny, shy smile blossoming on his lips in spite of himself. "I'm glad you're back."

"Of course you are," Ivan mused, staring off towards the hearth with a thoughtful expression. "Without wood for the fire, things would become grave very quickly. Two thin blankets won't keep you alive for long."

"No..." the brunette blurted out. The Russian looked at him with a renewed interest, and he felt his cheeks turning slightly red. "I...I mean...I'm glad for the fire. But..." he took a sudden interest in his hands, staring at them intently as he twined and untwined his thin fingers. "But...I'm glad that _you're_ here...um...sir." He tacked on the last word as a respectful afterthought, and it tumbled out awkwardly.

Russia said nothing for what seemed like an interminably long time, as he looked away towards the fire again, his forehead creased slightly as though contemplating something faintly troubling. Toris began to chew on his lower lip, wondering if he'd said something inappropriate. He looked desperately around the room for some kind of excuse to stand up and busy himself in some task, to escape the awkward silence that had suddenly fallen between them.

And then suddenly, abruptly, Ivan reached over and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling him towards him. Lithuania let out a muffled noise of surprise and tensed for a moment, flinching in anticipation of a blow, but instead found himself pulled into a tight, hug, his arms pinned to his sides and his chin resting awkwardly on the larger man's shoulder. With his cheek pressed to the Russian's cold skin, he closed his eyes impulsively, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

"You are afraid of me?" Ivan murmured, loosening his grip slightly and grasping Toris firmly by the shoulders and pulling him back, so that they were face to face again. The Lithuanian wasn't sure if it was terrifying or perversely reassuring, how effortlessly the stronger nation could pull him about as though he were a rag doll.

He swallowed hard. "Sometimes," he replied, in a moment of painful, compulsive honesty. There was an unsettling feeling in his stomach, and his eyes shone with a breathless mixture of fear and adoration. "More than sometimes." His voice was almost a whisper as he looked away. "But I'm still...grateful...for..." He trailed off, suddenly overwhelmingly shy and uncertain.

The blonde reached out and grasped the smaller nation's chin between calloused thumb and forefinger, tilting Toris' head upwards and forcing his gaze to meet his own with a gentle firmness. The Lithuanian held his breath, wary and uncertain and hopeful and afraid all at once, his pulse racing weakly and his cheeks a faint crimson. He waited for Ivan to laugh at him, to ruffle his hair and call him weak and kick him jovially off the bed and tell him to go and make himself useful. But the other man's expression remained thoughtful and sombre.

Suddenly, Ivan's grip tightened just a fraction and he leaned in until their noses were almost touching. Wide, confused green eyes met contemplative violet, and Toris found himself pushing forward against the other man's hand in spite of himself. He could feel the Russian's cool breath on his lips, his stomach lurching with nerves as his hands trembled slightly. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of a particularly dizzying cliff top, trying so very hard not to look down and failing more and more miserably with every fraction of the gap that closed between them. And in the next instant, Russia crushed his mouth possessively against Lithuania's; cold firm lips pushing against soft, yielding ones. And he couldn't breathe at all, and this dizzying sensation was not entirely unpleasant as Ivan wrapped two impossibly strong arms about him and he sank into the embrace with compliant abandon.

* * *

_AN: Sorry, I totally forgot to update. Orz. Well, here's the next chapter anyway, I hope you all like it. Oh look, Toris falls asleep again. XD_

_And a warning, as requested by Nikie-the-Awesome, and anyone else who isn't comfortable with M-rated stuff, the next chapter will be pretty smutty. _

_Much love, fellow RussxLith fans. ^^_


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Welcome to Wishing Is Cold: Yaoi Christmas Bumper Edition. _

_It's M-rated for a reason, kids, so if you don't like smut, please skip. ^^;  
_

_Please have a really wonderful Christmas, everyone and thank you so much for all the lovely comments!_

* * *

As the taller nation pushed him onto his back and twined one large hand through his hair as it spilled loosely against the creaking mattress, Toris let out a tiny moan. Trapped under Ivan's weight and pulled tightly against his broad chest, there was little he could do but angle his head awkwardly and obediently part his lips for the tongue which pushed past them and began to tentatively explore his mouth. Closing his eyes, he could scarcely believe what was happening as, for the first time since they'd begun to share a bed together, he could feel the Russian's heartbeat quicken. Abruptly, the other man released him from his grip and let him sprawl backwards onto the bed, leaning back to survey his flushed, dazed, heavily breathing subordinate. Toris propped himself onto his elbows and looked up at him with a gaze that was half confused and half pleading, as he gently reached up and pressed his fingertips lightly to Ivan's hand. As though this was all the signal that the other man required, he shifted his weight again suddenly, pushing him back again. Grabbing the brunette's hand and pulling it over his head, he pressed it firmly to the bed, pinning him there. The gesture was unmistakeably dominant, but this only made the butterflies in Lithuania's stomach drive him all that more to distraction as Ivan claimed his mouth once more and his back arched slightly in response.

Reaching up with his free hand, he ran his fingers through Ivan's snow-dampened hair, the gesture hesitant and sweet, in direct contrast to the other nation's possessive insistence. He could feel something rigid digging into his hip, but it was only when he shifted position and elicited a low grunt from the larger man that he realised what it was. A dark, deep blush spread across his cheeks and something lurched in the pit of his stomach, his breathing quickening slightly.

Suddenly, for the first time in so long that he could barely recognise the feeling, Toris felt warm. It seemed that, even before the train crash, the best he'd been able to settle for was staving off the cold, but this...this was genuine warmth, to the point where his cheeks were rosy and his skin prickled with the sensation. As Ivan broke the kiss, he found himself glowing with the heady prospect that perhaps the other man really wanted him. Not just as a possession, or a pet, or a servant, but here and now, in his arms, in a way that meant so much more. And as soon as the notion came to him, he realised with a crashing, overwhelming clarity, that he wanted that to be true so badly that he almost wished that he hadn't dared to think it.

Ivan broke their kiss once more, and Toris stared up into two deep pools of violet, his bottom lip trembling with want and need and uncertainty. His expression must have been so very earnest and intent, because the other man seemed to find something amusing about it, and chuckled lightly, before pinning him down that little more firmly. He gasped slightly and Ivan's little smile deepened for a moment.

"This is what you want, da?" the blonde asked softly, running his finger roughly over Toris' cheekbone. He all but whined as he leaned into the touch. Unable to trust himself to speak, he continued to lose himself in those eerie-coloured eyes, before eventually nodding solemnly.

Because it was, more than anything. And he wanted it so badly that he was willing to ignore the cautious, anxious little voice in the back of his head that was nagging him to be careful, to accept the possibility that Ivan, with his ever-changeable temperament and unfathomable whims, might decide tomorrow to relegate Toris back to being little more than a useful commodity. A part of him was terrified that the other nation might simply be, in one of his child-like forays into amorality, curiously exploiting the Lithuanian's apparently transparent feelings for him, for the sake of an amusing diversion.

But no...Ivan had taken care of him, had saved him and dragged him to safety, invited him into his bed, fed him scraps in front of the fire, and kept him warm and alive while the sinister General beat at their door and howled in rage outside at being deprived of a victim. And now Ivan's lips were pressed against his and the smaller man's back was arching as their chests pressed together and he could feel the Russian's heart hammering forcefully, could feel the way his breath hitched in the same involuntary way that Toris' did and it was suddenly so very, very easy to ignore that worried voice which kept whispering to him that he was turning the handle to a floodgate of so many unwanted and expertly repressed emotions. And that, if he gave himself up completely now, then there would be almost no chance to rescind later on, in the cold, uncomfortable light of bleak normality.

The desperate force of his need eclipsed his natural pragmatism, and he kissed Ivan back with a renewed fervour, wrapping his free arm about the other man's neck and clinging tightly. The blonde released his hand and moved his own down towards Toris' side, slipping it under his jumper and running his fingertips roughly over an all too palpable ribcage. At the sensation of Ivan's cool hands against his skin, he moaned slightly in the back of his throat, and was rewarded with the sensation of the other man's lips curling into a smile, even while crushed against his own. They broke apart, staring at one another and reticently, slowly and with a slightly shaking hand, Toris reached up towards the top button on Ivan's coat, his fingertips lightly grazing the fabric as he looked up uncertainly for some unspoken permission to continue. Ivan made no move to stop him, so he shyly fumbled with the fastening, his hand awkwardly moving to the next button.

The Russian looked down at him with a look of barely contained amusement, before unceremoniously shoving him backwards onto the bed and yanking his jumper up before the stifled noise of surprise had even passed his lips. He barely had time to raise his arms in compliance before he found himself shirtless, eyes wide and lips parted in slight shock at the urgency of the action. Ivan's hands had already worked their way down the front of his own coat, and he was shrugging off the garment impatiently, his own shirt rapidly following suit. He kissed Toris once more, brief and hard, and his fingernails ghosted over the brunette's bare shoulder. The smaller nation half propped up himself on one elbow, as his lips found Ivan's cheek, moving down to his jaw line and planting a tiny butterfly kiss there, before his tongue trailed lightly and eagerly down his neck. The blonde let out a low moan and Toris kissed his collarbone and then the hollow of his throat, before resting his head against his chest for just a moment, and savouring the sound of his heartbeat.

It wasn't long before Ivan had him pinned back down to the bed again, the fabric of the old and worn blankets slightly rough against his bare, scarred back. He closed his eyes as the other man leaned over to bite down gently on his ear, as his large hands wandered to the waistband of Toris' trousers, unbuttoning his fly and pulling them down along with his underwear. A deep, dark blush blossomed across his face and a moan forced its way past his lips as Ivan's fingertips brushed his now-swollen member. Clumsily, the Lithuanian wriggled underneath him, kicking the garment free. His own hands found their way to Ivan's trousers, and this time the Russian had the patience to allow the smaller man to finish undressing him, his movements nervous and hesitant as he slowly freed the blonde's straining erection. Overwhelmed, his emerald eyes were impossibly wide and, for a moment, all he could do was stare. His heart was racing so fast, and his breathing was so shallow that he could feel himself growing light headed.

Ivan's teeth found the sensitive flesh of his neck and he bit down lightly and possessively, with just enough force to elicit a gasp from his partner. It felt as though every inch of Toris' skin was bristling with electricity, and every slight touch made his stomach lurch, made the butterflies dance even harder. A wandering hand ghosted over his penis, eliciting a throaty, needy moan, as his shyness lost out to his overwhelming _need_, and he pushed his hips forward a little, biting his lip and looking up at the Russian with a plea in his large green eyes. Ivan wrapped his hand around Toris' length tightly, and that moan became a little cry as he bucked into the other man's hand.

Running a hand through Toris' hair, Ivan chuckled a little as the little nation squirmed under his touch, planting an affectionate kiss on his crimson cheek. "My needy little Litva..." he whispered into the other man's ear, his voice thick with lust.

"Hnngh..." Toris mumbled unintelligibly in response, his back arching against the mattress and his chest heaving.

"All mine?" Ivan enquired in a low, sing-song voice, as though he was already well aware of the answer. He ran his thumb teasingly over the head of his member, causing the brunette to cry out weakly.

"Yours..." he breathed in assent, and in that moment, the affirmation was delicious, because there was nothing else in the world that he wanted to be. "All yours..."

Ivan stopped then, withdrawing his hand and provoking a little whine from Toris as he pushed him down, climbing all the way on top of him and pushing his knee between the smaller nation's legs. Involuntarily, Lithuania pushed himself against him, as the blonde smoothed chestnut locks of hair away from his damp, flushed forehead and stared down at his helplessly desperate servant with an affectionate, bemused little smile.

"You seem flustered, my dear Litva" he remarked with a short laugh. "Is there something that you want?"

Toris hesitated, his eyes wide and fearful even as he panted and pressed his hips against Ivan's. He ached, more than he thought possible, for the other man to _have_ him, in every possible sense of the word. But, sexually inexperienced as he was, he couldn't help but baulk at the thought of taking something so large inside of him. So very torn between his lust and his nerves, the former won out eventually and he met Ivan's inquisitive gaze with shy and adoring eyes.

"Please...take me..." he whispered, blushing.

"Patience..." The Russian grinned wolfishly, running the back of his hand across Toris' cheek and laughing quietly as the Baltic nation nuzzled into his touch in an anxious, cloying kind of way. Climbing off and sitting back onto his knees, Ivan grabbed the other man's hair and pulled his head into his lap, gently guiding his lips towards the tip of his erection.

"You have such a pretty mouth, Litva..." he murmured as Toris obediently parted his lips. Ivan moaned as he pushed his member towards the back of the brunette's throat. Earnestly, the Lithuanian began to suck, and he found that the task was not an unpleasant one. He took pleasure in every little aspect of the moment; the sensation of his mouth being so very full, the intimacy of the fact, the slightly helpless feeling from having Ivan's first curled insistently in his hair and the satisfying moans that he was eliciting from the man he adored so very, very much.

Ivan was thrusting harder and harder into his mouth, and a trail of saliva made its way down his chin as he did his best to keep up. A part of Toris ached for the Russian to come in his mouth, to be able to bring the other man to orgasm and to feel it and taste it. But clearly Ivan had other plans because, with a grunt of frustration, he pulled out abruptly, a small string of saliva running between his erection and the tip of Toris' eager tongue. With a low growl of frustration, he pushed the brunette firmly, face first, back onto the mattress and grabbed him by the hips.

His face pressed against the bed, his cheeks burning scarlet, Toris closed his eyes and squirmed when he felt the tip of Ivan's finger push against his opening. As the other man worked the digit inside him, he let out a confused, distressed moan, unable to work out if the sensation was arousing, or simply uncomfortable. The Russian seemed to take some pity on him, because he reached around with his other hand and began to gently stroke Toris' member, ghosting light kisses over the back of his neck. Adjusting to the full feeling, the Lithuanian pushed back against Ivan experimentally, and then whimpered as the other man slipped a second finger in, stretching him gently, all the while stroking his arousal and murmuring gentle words of encouragement.

Just when he was starting to get used to Ivan's fingers buried inside him, the other man withdrew slowly. Toris looked over his shoulder to see him spitting on his hand and rubbing his own member, which was still slick with the brunette's saliva. With his other hand, the larger nation gently pushed him back down again, with an affectionate caress to the shoulder. Toris' breathing was coming dangerously close to hyperventilation, with the nervousness of inexperience and the desperation of lust.

"Shshhh..." the Soviet nation murmured quietly, as he pushed the tip of his member to Toris' opening, and the other man involuntarily tensed up. "You are too anxious, little one."

Lithuania swallowed hard and tried his best to relax as the blonde began to push inside him, guiding his erection inside and pushing gently, allowing the other man's opening to adjust for a few moments with every inch. It must have been frustrating for him, Toris realised, even as he squirmed and gasped and Ivan had to support his hips with one burly arm wrapped around him to keep him from collapsing in a heap. But there was suddenly no sign of impatience from the Russian, who went in slowly and carefully. The process was painful enough to cause little tears to spring to his bright green eyes, but he wanted it so very badly. And there was always Ivan's hand occasionally wandering to his own member, stroking and fondling as reward and encouragement. Eventually, the larger nation was buried inside him, and he felt as though he could barely breath, two little rivers of salt water streaming down his crimson cheeks.

"Good boy..." Ivan whispered soothingly, wrapping his arms around him tightly from behind, effortlessly encircling his skinny frame. His breath was warm on his neck, and Toris closed his eyes and moaned as he shifted position slightly. He felt so very full and stretched to his limit, and he ached painfully, but it was not unpleasant. And something in his chest was singing out at the fact that it was Ivan's arms which held him so tightly. He was overwhelmed, shy, confused and slightly distressed, but he had never felt so utterly safe or wanted in his entire life.

As Ivan began to tentatively pull back, with a few gentle thrusts, Toris moaned louder, pushing his hips higher to give the other man better access. Slowly, with the same gentle encouragement, the other man began to thrust, shallow and tentative at first, but gradually deepening until they were locked in a steady rhythm, with Ivan grunting quietly and Toris panting desperately. As the larger man thrust a little harder, drawing a little muffled squeal from the brunette, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on his warm cheek.

"You're my favourite, Litva..." he grunted in between thrusts, his fist steadily pumping Toris' aching member. The smaller man bucked and moaned, feeling his arousal start to reach fever pitch. He could feel the beginnings of his climax starting to build up in the pit of his stomach, and tried to force it down, wanting this feeling to last forever, the heady, delicious sensation of being one with the man who owned him so very profoundly.

"I love you...!" he blurted out, half-tearful, as he pushed back against the other nation. "I...I..."

He felt Ivan freeze for a fraction of a second and instantly, the brunette regretted the words that had left his lips in the heat of the moment, wishing desperately that he could retract them. There was a horrible pause, which could not have lasted for more than a second, but seemed interminable. But had he been able to see Ivan's face, he would have been confronted with a delighted grin. The other man laughed lightly, gripping him so tightly that it was almost painful, one broad arm in an embrace around his chest that threatened to constrict his breathing.

"My devoted little Toris..." he murmured into his ear, stroking him harder and increasing the pace of his thrusts.

"V...vanya!" Lithuania's moans became strangled cries, and he could feel his arousal reaching fever pitch, his orgasm rising and threatening to engulf him entirely. And with a violent shudder, it did, racking his thin frame and causing his vision to swim and evoking a hoarse scream as he came into Ivan's hand with an intensity which he hadn't thought possible. Shuddering and panting, he would have been limp in the other man's arms had it not been for Ivan's insistent grip on his hips as he thrust harder. The Russian's breathing was little more than a series of terse grunts as he swiftly followed suit, emptying his hot, white seed inside him with a low, almost feral growl as the brunette clenched his muscles, feeling the other man spasm inside him.

Russia's body twitched and tensed above him for a few moments, holding the smaller, trembling man tightly to his chest, before both nations abruptly collapsed to the mattress. Toris could feel something warm and sticky and slightly shameful dripping down his thighs, but he couldn't bring himself to care, flushed and glowing with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

Rolling over, he rested his head on the violet eyed man's broad chest, which was warm and sticky with sweat. Kissing his collarbone lightly, he looked up at Ivan with shining eyes, and a shy, uncertain smile. With a broad grin, the Russian wrapped an arm around his bare shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead and smoothing his damp hair away from his eyes. Pulling the blanket over both of them, he continued to hold his exhausted servant with a protective care.

They lay there for the longest time, while their breathing returned to normal and the hammering of their hearts subsided to a gentle rhythm. Content, ecstatic and utterly worn out, the Baltic nation felt his eyelids growing heavy, cocooned by the delicious warmth of Ivan's embrace and the heady, satiated afterglow of their activities.

"Litva...?" He opened his eyes again sleepily and found himself staring up into curious violet.

"Hmm...?" Toris smiled up at the larger nation, reaching up to let his hand rest on the other man's shoulder. There was a long, thoughtful pause from the Russian.

Eventually he spoke. "In the future, you will not call me Vanya," he said, with a frown. "It reminds me too much of..." he hesitated, wincing. "...my sisters."

"Ah...!" Toris blushed and his eyes widened in slight panic, pulling away slightly from the blonde. "I...I'm so sorry...I..." he gulped. "It won't happen again...!"

Ivan stared at him for the longest time, one blonde eyebrow raised sharply as he watched the smaller man grow redder and redder. He cocked his head to one side expectantly.

"Um..." Toris floundered. "It...won't happen again..._sir_...?"

"Better..." Ivan smiled bemusedly, and ruffled the Lithuanian's hair, pulling him back into a tight embrace. Toris rested his burning cheek in the crook of the larger man's shoulder and closed his eyes.

They remained silent again for the longest time, while the acuteness of Lithuania's embarrassment subsided. He'd all but convinced himself that Ivan was asleep, when the Russian spoke up again.

"Oh...and Litva?" his tone was more tired now, as though sleep was threatening to claim him at any moment.

"Sir?"

"I love you too."


End file.
